


Two Faces, Same Shield

by kocuria-visuals (kocuria), NimDamy



Series: Two Faces, Same Shield [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Actor Bucky Barnes, Angst, Avenger Steve Rogers, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky plays Captain America, How Do I Tag, Lots of Angst, M/M, Multi, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Smoking Bucky, Stucky Blind Date 2020, Suicidal Bucky Barnes, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23079430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria-visuals, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimDamy/pseuds/NimDamy
Summary: Bucky Barnes.Hollywood star, Afghanistan veteran, Brooklyn boy.He rose to fame with the Captain America movie franchise. The sequel, Captain America: A Man Out Of Time, makes him one of the highest grossing actors of the decade.Steve Rogers Jr.Green Beret, former Secret Service, Avenger.When he found his grandfather's shield, he decided to pick up the mantle of Captain America and protect the innocents.His mission brings him to the NY Comic Con, where he will come face to face with another man bearing the same shield.Two men.Two faces.One Shield.Hopefully, that will be enough to save the world.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sharon Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Two Faces, Same Shield [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658725
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43
Collections: January Prompts 2020





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the Stucky Blind Date induced extravaganza.  
> Buckle up, you guys are in for a wild ride.  
> Without further ado,  
> Enjoy!  
> (art by kocuria-visuals, beta-ed by betheflame)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, please MIND THE TAGS  
> TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/IDEATIONS  
> With that said, go ahead and enjoy!

* * *

* * *

Bucky took a long drag of his cigarette. The familiar tobacco and mint flavour brought him more comfort than he was willing to admit to anyone. Even if his Nana was upset with him relapsing after almost a decade, going cold turkey after his return from Afghanistan, the calming taste of a deep drag was too much to turn down. 

But he needed something to take the edge off and ground him in the here and now rather than let his mind take him back to there and then. Lately, he'd been needing that more than usual. 

He threaded a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly, eyes following the smoke tendrils rising lazily towards the grey sky. It looked like it would rain soon. 

At first, it had been a dream come true. He was, currently, one of America's most promising up-and-coming actors, a veritable star in the making. He'd sacrificed so much to get to where he was and yet… Something was missing. 

The previous weekend's visit to his Nana's place in Brooklyn had raised more questions than it had answered. He was trying to get himself excited for the new contract his manager was drawing up by explaining all the benefits to his grandparents, but it must have sounded more lacklustre than he'd intended because, later on, over a slice of Nana's apple pie and with a glass of Pawpaw's good liquor giving him a pleasant buzz, Nana had sat in front of him and asked him one simple question. 

' _I will be the first to admit that I don't understand most of what you told us, but from what I got, it sounds like a sweet deal. But, Jamie, are you happy?'_

It was that one simple question that he couldn't get out of his head even a week later. It kept replaying, Nana's voice still ringing in his ears as he did promos and his Comic Con panel and Q&A session. 

It was still going, a silent mantra in his head. ' _Am I happy?'_

He finished his cigarette and leaned against the balcony railing. He had everything: a career on the rise, the lead in one of the most successful movie franchises in the last decade, more money than he knew what to do with… And yet…

"I have everything! Why the fuck am I not happy?" he whispered to the sky. The other night, he couldn't give Nana an answer, but she had always been too good at understanding what somebody said without actually saying anything. So he had a feeling that she had known the answer long before he admitted it to himself. 

Because Bucky Barnes was not unhappy. No, he was just numb. Numb and _tired_. Not tired of acting, no, he still believed he could never get tired of acting and it was just as glorious as it had been since the beginning. He was tired of the life that came with it; always having to keep his guard up, carefully choosing every word, every movement, every action. Having to be vigilant every second of his life, because he had seen too many of his colleagues go from America's Sweetheart to Most Despised overnight because of even the slightest hint of a compromising move captured by ambitious paparazzi. Hollywood had long since perfected the art of blowing things out of proportions. 

And he was just so tired of everything. Last weekend it had only taken a few hours before the internet buzzed about **_'Sweetheart Bucky Barnes visits WW2 veteran and his wife, who just so happen to be his grandparents, in childhood Brooklyn home'_ **. 

He couldn't go out to get a coffee with a friend without having every celeb blog blowing up with rumours and theories on his love/sex life (or lack thereof). And Bucky didn't need to see his face and read about himself every fucking morning, thank you very much. 

His phone buzzed. Most likely Nat, to confirm their hanging out later on. He pulled it out of his pocket and smiled, seeing he was right. 

_N: 'We still on for ice cream and chilling tonight? :)'_

He shot a ' _sure, see you_ ' before returning the phone to its place and resuming his previous position. 

He was itching for a second cigarette, but there were kids waiting for a chance to take a photo with Captain America and he knew better than to show up smelling like an ashtray. His manager had pitched a fit last time Bucky had tried to hide it with some Life Savers and a spritz of cologne. Getting berated was not on his ‘to-do’ list for the day.

He checked his watch. Ten more minutes before he was expected to start his photo op. Enough time to lose the remaining tobacco scent from his hair and clothes. Ten more minutes of respite before returning to the hustle and bustle of the con. He'd long since learned to enjoy these small moments to the fullest. 

Bucky looked over the railing, to the busy street below. For a second, he imagined jumping, soaring like the stunts he did for the movies, but without the safety net at the bottom to catch him. _L'appel du vide,_ that's what it was called, this sort of impulse to do dangerous things. He'd found the term in one of Nat's books. For some reason, it had stuck. 

And after all, it would be so easy… he already did as many of his own stunts as he was allowed, which was most of them. Former military did have some advantages. 

His family would miss him, he supposed. But Nana and Pawpaw were old and starting to drift away… His mom and dad, well, they hadn't actually spoken in almost a month, now that he thought of it. Nothing serious, just work getting in the way. Same with Becca, but at least his sister texted him random highlights of her day every now and then. 

Nat would probably miss him too. Hard to say with how stoic she acted most of the time, though. They had a pretty good thing going, a sort of friends with benefits situation that sometimes got them into bed together and sometimes just binge-ing a whole season of the latest show Nat had gotten obsessed with, with popcorn and ice cream and a plethora of other snacks spread out on the table and the couch and sometimes even the floor. 

But Nat would get through it. As would all the others. 

A drop of rain on the back of his hand startled Bucky from his thoughts.

He took a few steps back, to where the balcony was covered and just in time, as rain started falling with a vengeance. A car horn blared on the street below, followed by indistinct shouting. Two cab drivers must have crossed paths. Bucky chuckled at the thought. 

But then came the sound of glass breaking and screaming from inside the convention hall and, well, his ten minutes were almost up anyways. He'd better go and check on his fans, start taking pictures. He'd call Becca later though. Or next morning, depending on the kind of chilling Nat had in mind. 

He made his way inside, not even noticing he’d left the pack of cigarettes and the lighter abandoned by the railing and getting soaked by the rain. 

* * *

* * *

Steve Rogers had had enough of HYDRA to last him for a lifetime. But of course Tony just _had_ to finally figure out the algorithm that got them the approximate location of their bases just as he had been planning a trip back to England. 

(If Grandma Peggy saw him with the beard he'd had to grow for the mission, she'd probably shave him herself.) 

But the base had been cleared out by the time he'd arrived and now he had nothing to show for the weeks he'd spent undercover.

He planned on checking in with Nat before returning to the compound, where he would have to have quite the talk with Tony about the possibility of their servers being compromised. It just felt a little too weird for the base that satellite imaging showed as teeming with activity just a month prior to be deserted and wiped clean by the time he arrived. 

Nat was at some Captain America Comic Con, in an effort to keep up her "completely ordinary citizen" persona. If a completely ordinary citizen was the assistant of a Hollywood manager. Or friends with movie stars. To each their own. 

He'd hopped in a cab, too tired to take his bike. The driver's eyes had lit up at the name of the convention centre, especially when he saw Steve's tactical gear and shield. He'd then spent the following thirty minutes telling Steve all about his kids who were, in fact, attending said comic con and how they loved both Captain America and the actor behind the shield, Bucky Barnes, periodically interrupting himself to shout at the other drivers. He'd also complimented Steve's costume, praising him for the idea of showing the darker side of the beloved character.

Steve found it funny, as the only similarity between his mission gear and the suit he'd seen on several posters by now was that both were tightly fitted to the body. Where the movie suit was brightly coloured and with a big white star in the middle of the chest (and seriously, did they _really_ have to use a suit that looked like a USA flag had a child with a spandex leotard?), Steve's gear was a combination of kevlar, leather and plain cotton fabric, full black and with a small Avengers logo on the left, right above his heart. And it was completed by tons of pockets, a tactical belt and a shoulder holster for his shield. Which was plain vibranium with the exception of two navy circles. 

_"The Captain's more brunet, though. And he don't have no beard, but good effort, buddy."_

Steve had only smiled at the comment. Not like he could have put in a word otherwise. 

They were almost in front of the entrance when something hit the roof of the car. Through the window, Steve watched as a cloaked figure jumped from the car and ran into the convention centre. The cab driver was just about ready to jump out of the car, window down, shouting a plethora of insults at the man who had almost wrecked his car, all of a sudden complaining about crazy cosplayers who wanted to appear more badass, but Steve recognized the contraption the jumper was holding. He could recognize a tesseract weapon in his sleep.

“You know what,” he told the driver, “here is great, actually.”

He handed the man several bills, enough to cover both the ride and the repairs the guy would have to make to the car and all but jumped out of the cab, in hot pursuit of the armed guy. The rain soaked him almost instantly, his new, longer hair sticking to his forehead.

The guy blasted through the glass doors of the convention centre, heading straight for the Captain America display. Steve could appreciate the irony.

Of course the HYDRA sympathiser would go and try and wreck the image of their arch-nemesis. 

He ran after the guy, the crowd parting for the two of them, some even holding their phones up to film the two of them. Tony will hate him when he’d go through and do the cleanup. At the same time, if it hadn’t been for Tony, Steve would be in England at the moment, not chasing a lunatic with a super powered weapon through a huge crowd, at a Captain America convention. 

Speaking of, where the hell was Natasha?

He heard a few ‘watch out’s and one or two ‘great job guys, spot on costumes’ and of course the on-lookers thought that they were just actors in character, an entertainment program staged to give the actors and whatnot a break.

Only he wasn’t an actor and the weapon the guy held was the real deal and he had to take into account the civilians because dammit, they had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The guy reached the biggest display, the one announcing the photo op of Bucky Barnes, Captain America and what even kind of name was Bucky? It sounded more like something one would call a dog than a person.

But Barnes wasn’t there and the guy with the gun turned around. Steve got his first good look at his face and, hell, the guy had to be HYDRA because who else would be able to recreate with such fidelity the face of Red Skull and get hold of a HYDRA tesseract weapon?

The weapon was now glowing and aimed at the crowd and the guy was shouting something about handing the captain over to him and Steve didn’t get the chance to think the next few seconds through, he just leapt, shield in place on his arm, putting himself in the line of fire.

The weapon went off. The blast hit the shield. The shield reflected the blast towards the ceiling, where it hit some banner or something, blasting the thing into oblivion.

And then the screaming began. 

* * *

* * *

Bucky emerged on the main floor in the middle of chaos. Two guys seemed to be the epicentre of the commotion. One of them had a full black variation of his Captain America uniform on, complete with a silver-navy shield, while the other wore a scarily realistic rendition of a Red Skull mask. 

Quite in character for cosplayers, even though he'd never worn anything other than the vibrant red-blue-white suit on screen. However, given the last movie's cliffhanger ending, where Captain America was torn between two complicated choices: working with the democratically-elected government that was nevertheless dark and corrupt, or joining a bloody resistance movement who was willing to kill in order to purge the world of evil, the guy's cosplay was understandable. 

But there was something bugging him about the two. He knew that there was no entertainment program scheduled and the fight seemed a bit too desperate to be fake. Then the Red Skull guy aimed and shot his weapon and the Cap guy just threw his shield in the blast's path, reflecting it so that it hit a, thankfully empty, stand. Which turned to dust in the blink of an eye. 

_'This is what all that thinking about death gets me,'_ Bucky thought. _'I'll never not trust Nana on this sort of thing again.'_

He was distracted for, maybe, half a second. But that was enough for the Red Skull guy to tackle the Cap guy, who was now defenseless. But he appeared to hold his ground pretty well, so Bucky used it as a chance to evaluate the situation. And the threat that guy posed was enough to make him switch from Bucky Barnes, Hollywood star, to Sergeant James B Barnes, US Delta Force. He knew that his priority was getting the civilians out, then helping the Cap guy restrain the maniac.

Because Bucky could recognise another operative when he saw one fight. 

He checked the emergency exits. All of them seemed clear, so far. Good. 

But where the hell was security? 

"Come on, everybody out!" he shouted, loud enough for people to start reacting. They started rushing for the doors, the empty space surrounding the two fighting men increasing by the second. 

But these people were civilians - they were panicked and they had no idea how to deal with combat situations.

So Bucky grabbed his prop shield, which he'd had ready for the photo op, and jumped in the middle of the crowd, trying to direct them.

The shield was light, a carbon fiber prototype meant to survive the stunts in the movie. And the shape and weight were something familiar enough that Bucky was grounded in the present, not fading back to Afghanistan. 

For some reason, the sight of the prop shield seemed to calm the chaos a little. Bucky started directing the people towards the exits, trying to maintain a calm face and use his Captain tone of voice. 

If he succumbed to panic, everybody else would follow. 

But seeing their idol calm and collected, taking a real stand to save them, gave the people the reason to listen and follow his directives. 

Somewhere in the crowd, a kid was crying. 

And then there was a woman screaming something about how she'd lost her kid and she was basically sobbing and Bucky was _done_. 

"Ma'am, please, get outside now. I'll personally get your kid back to you," he told her, before turning towards one of the few tables still standing. 

He climbed on it, eyes scanning the dispersing crowd. At first, it was just a sea of faceless people rushing towards the doors but then he caught a flash of red and there was Nat, tossing the shield back to the Cap guy and acting like a lunatic gymnast and jumping around, trying to distract the Red Skull guy. 

He could have sworn that he heard the Cap guy shout something along the lines of "flank him on the left, widow" but that made no sense. 

But then he saw a kid, huddled under another table, way closer to the fight than Bucky was comfortable with. 

For a few seconds, nothing happened. The kid was scared, but silent and still.

Then the Red Skull guy, taking advantage of the break the Cap guy needed to retrieve his shield, caught Nat by the throat and slammed her into the table hiding the kid. 

The kid screamed. 

Bucky jumped. The Cap guy had his shield back now, and used it like a frisbee to direct Red Skull guy's attention back to himself. 

Bucky got to Nat in time to see her taking in a deep breath and getting back up, ready to rejoin the Cap guy. 

"Get the kid out, and stay out!" she told him when she saw him rushing towards her. 

Bucky nodded and took half a second to watch her as she jumped right back into the fight, narrowly avoiding a blast from the Red Skull guy's weapon. 

He turned his attention back to the kid, who was watching the fight wide eyed, lower lip trembling. Bucky watched as the kid, a little girl, no older than 8 or 9, started taking short, shallow breaths, tears streaming down her face.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath. 

He kneeled in front of her, placing the prop shield on the ground. 

"Hey there," he said, looking her in the eye. "I'm Bucky. I wanna get you out of here and back to your mom. Do you want that?" 

She nodded. 

"Good. Do you think you can listen to me and do exactly as I tell you to do?" 

She nodded again. 

"Great. In this case, I want you to take a look around, and try and choose the closest exit to us." 

The girl looked around and pointed at one of the doors, turning back to check in with Bucky after she decided. 

Bucky saw her eyes widen as she fixed her gaze on something behind him. 

He picked up the prop shield and turned around, positioning himself as a human barrier between the girl and the Red Skull guy. 

"Captain. We meet again, I see," the guy said, his face twisting in a hideous grin. 

"You know, if you wanted to see me face to face so bad, you could have just paid for the meet and greet ticket, there was no need to wreck the place," Bucky replied, eyes scanning his surroundings. There he was, the Cap guy, shield-less and with Nat helping him get up from the wrecks of an action figures display. 

"I see you haven't learned to hold your tongue even after all these years."

“Why should I? While I appreciate your feedback, I have to admit, for some reason I don’t really feel inclined to take your advice to heart, you know," the actor retorted and Bucky wanted to slap himself as soon as the words left his mouth. 

The Red Skull guy grinned again and lifted his weapon. 

"I suppose I'll have to teach you. Dr Erskine was a fool to put his hopes in you, you foolish boy."

 _'This is it, then. The end.'_ Bucky thought. It was a less comforting thought than he’d expected it to be. Even less comforting was his next one. _'I don't want to die.'_

Here he was, having the breakthrough of the century while faced with almost certain death. Not even an hour ago he'd been considering, actually, honest to God, considering taking a leap into the traffic from the highest floor of the building. And now he realised he didn't want to die. 

Speaking of crappy timing. 

Fuck. 

The barrel of the weapon was glowing now. He felt the girl behind him gripping his pants leg tightly. 

The Cap guy was on his feet now, but his shield was still nowhere to be seen and neither was Nat. He wouldn't have been fast enough either way. 

Bucky twisted and crouched down, right arm cradling the girl's head close to his chest, his body covering hers.. Hopefully, it would be enough for her to make it. 

He raised his left arm, the one bearing the shield, above his head. 

Later on, he'd say that the next few seconds happened in slow motion and in fast forward at the same time. 

Cap guy shouting. 

Nat shouting. 

The weapon going off. 

The girl sobbing into his chest. 

A flash of movement and Red Skull guy falling to the ground. 

And a splatter of wetness on his face and a sudden lack of weight on his left shoulder. 

Then the pain hit. 

For a few seconds, it was excruciating. He'd never felt anything nearly as painful before in his life. 

He tried to bring his left arm down, to wipe his face but nothing happened. The room started swaying around him. 

The last thing he saw was a mess of blood and bone and charred tissue where his left arm should have been. 

Bucky embraced the darkness as it claimed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt:  
> jan 008  
> Captain America is a beloved comics and movie franchise that has proven wildly successful for the gorgeous actor who plays him on the big screen: Bucky Barnes. But Bucky’s getting tired and depressed by fame and one day at a fan convention he escapes out the back to the loading dock for a smoke and a few quiet moments, debating whether to bail altogether and just....walk away. Suddenly he hears a commotion inside and runs in to help, only to find that somehow Captain America and Red Skull battling it out in the convention hall. Suddenly Bucky and Cap have to team up to save the fans—and the world! (Of course they fall in love along the way)  
> 
> 
> [Visual aid for Steve's suit here. :) [Marvel concept art for Civil War by Ryan Meinerding]](https://imgur.com/b0g9mO0)  
> 
> 
> Remember to take all reactions, suggestions and complaints to the small blue box below!  
>  Cheers, y’all! :)  
> 


	2. Rusted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta: betheflame  
> art+cheering on+all around awesomness: kocuria  
> WARNING: there is a scene in this chapter describing the events of the 9/11 terrorist attack. just, you know, so you know what to expect. in case you want to skip that, it starts with *(2001)* and ends at the next page-break. (summary will be in the end notes, in case you skip it)

_(Three years before the Comic Con - 2011)_

The return to Hampstead was everything and nothing like Steve expected.

For the first time since he was a child, the house felt enormous. But, back then, it was never empty.

The last time he’d been here, he’d come home on leave to help his mom move his grandparents into the nursing home. He’d only been around for a little over three weeks and many of his cousins and aunts and uncles had been around too. Even Sharon had taken a vacation to visit, and she regaled them all with behind-the-scenes stories of Hollywood.

He’d called Sharon before coming back to England, asking if she’d like to join him. Out of all the Rogers-Carter brood, it was Sharon that he’d always been closest to. She was the only one who was close to his age, as his mom’s brothers all had children six to eight years older than him.

Sharon had declined. She was in the process of searching for a co-star for the upcoming Captain America movie.

 _“Steve, you have no idea how much I miss you and how sad I am that I can't come with you back to Hampstead. But my contract clearly states that I have to approve of my future co-star. After all, it seems that I am the one person in Hollywood who is most capable of choosing the actor to play Captain America. I was half-raised by the guy, after all,”_ she’d chuckled.

Steve understood. But, standing in the silent study that had belonged to his grandfather up until three years ago, he regretted not bringing any other of his cousins with him. Or, at least, waiting until his mom finished her shift at St Bartholomew Hospital. Or even bothering Jason to come with him.

That scent he remembered, which he had always associated with this particular room - of candle smoke and paint and varnish - had faded, replaced by dust and stale air. The walls still displayed some of his grandpa’s sketches and paintings, but most of them were either in storage or on display in some gallery or other. And the spark of magic and wonder that had enveloped this room for as long as Steve remembered was gone now as well.

He opened a window, to clear the air a little bit, then he shook his head and left the room, closing the door behind him. It felt somehow invasive, to go through his grandfather's things, his private room, without him present. 

Same with Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. And his mother’s. 

His childhood bedroom was almost the same as how he’d left it, back when he’d returned to the US, with a dream and a full ride to NYU. A little tidier, perhaps. Less things strewn around, the closets mostly empty. 

Steve rubbed, absentmindedly, at his right shoulder, sore even after two weeks since his release from the hospital. That’s what he gets for taking a bullet for the President. A medal, an honorable discharge with a hefty pension, and a sore shoulder. 

His mom had said that she’d moved some of his old things in the attic, he might as well look through them. The top floor had always been quiet. Perhaps it wouldn’t feel as lonely as the rest of the house did. And it would give him something to do until his mother arrived, other than sit around and wallow in self-pity. 

He navigated the house almost by muscle memory alone. He missed his grandparents. He should probably go visit them soon.

The attic was just as he remembered it, large and with a low ceiling, housing piles upon piles of boxes, all labeled carefully.

Steve made his way past the tower of ‘Christmas decorations’ boxes and the other piles belonging to either his grandparents, his mom, or his uncles. Boxes upon boxes filled with everything, from old school projects to diplomas to clothes.

Close to the windows, he found what he was looking for. Several boxes, all labeled ‘Steve’, ‘Stevie’, ‘Junior’ or a variation of the above. It was almost comforting to see the mixture of Grandma’s calligraphy, Grandpa's crisp lettering and Mom’s messy scrawl. 

The first box he opened was one labeled by his mom. It was full of his old notebooks and textbooks from high school. He chuckled as he found the old schematics he and Jason Falsworth had come up with in a desperate attempt to get their school to close down. Not their fault that they were both following in their grandfathers’ footsteps, both gifted strategists with a knack for disregarding rules and societal norms. Grandma Peggy had, of course, found it, before the two boys could go ahead and put their plans in practice. She had laughed hard enough that she got tears in her eyes upon figuring out what exactly it was that the two of them were after. And then she’d sat down with them and pointed out some of the weaker points of their plan, with nothing more than a wink and a sly smile. 

_“I did not become one of the best intelligence agents in the war for nothing, Stevie. There is a reason the Howling Commandos rarely went on a mission without my input on their plans, and that reason is, in no way, shape or form, that I was Cap’s girl,”_ she’d told him later on. 

The next box was one labeled by grandpa and it held some of his early attempts at art, as well as several model planes Steve had made out of popsicle sticks and rubber bands. One of them was intact enough that Steve actually took it out of the box and tested the rubber. It was still working. He was going to take that one outside and try it out. He’d seen some kids running around in the neighbourhood, maybe they’d enjoy it too. 

Another box labeled by his mom; comic books this time. Two more boxes, both labeled by grandpa, that held more of his toys. 

Then one box labeled by grandma, filled with his old clothes. He should go through those, see what could be donated. No use in them gathering dust in the attic. He caught a whiff of the musty odor they had when he closed the box back up. _First I’ll wash them,_ he promised himself. 

And then he saw another box, wider than the rest. The label read ‘Steve - gear’ in Grandma’s writing. It had been well hidden by the rest of his boxes, which Steve had closed and sorted in two piles, one to remain in the attic and one to be taken downstairs for further inspection. 

But this last box… Steve opened it. The first thing he saw was the bright blue headgear. Helmet? A cowl, maybe? Either way, he did recognize it, but not from his childhood. No, he realised now that he had stumbled upon his grandfather’s things, left over from the war. 

Steve closed the box. Then he opened it again. He’d thought that all the Captain America gear had been donated to the Smithsonian, back in New York. Apparently, he’d thought wrong. 

He added the box to the ‘take downstairs’ pile.

* * *

_(2001)_

_He’d lost track of time, searching through the rubble of the World Trade Center._

_He was on campus that morning, had just arrived home from his daily morning run and was getting ready for his first class of the day, General Chemistry, when the first plane hit. He could see the smoke from his kitchenette window. He was in the middle of fixing breakfast for himself when the skyline turned black._

_He didn’t even stop to think before shooting out the door and running towards the site, breakfast sandwich forgotten on the counter._

_He made it to the World Trade Centre in just under 5 minutes. The people around him were too panicked to notice the young man running like a maniac through the billowing clouds of dust and ash that were coating Lower Manhattan._

_He looked up, just in time to see a plane make a beeline towards the still-standing South Tower and crash right into it._

_Steve was already digging through the rubble by the time the first responders arrived at the scene. Thankfully, none of them ended up asking Steve who he was or why he was there or why he could lift large blocks of concrete by himself when they had to team up to do the same. Whether they were distracted by the ash clouds slowly clogging their lungs, or the sheer chaos of the situation, Steve wasn’t sure. He just kept hoping no one noticed that as soon as his skin tore on the rough concrete or exposed rebar, it healed itself immediately._

_In the end they gave him a dog to help with the search. Nobody else could keep up with him, be it his long silences interrupted by brief sentences spoken more for himself than anything, analyzing the situation and the best course of action, or the sheer speed of his work. Anything, in the end, to keep himself focused on the task at hand and not let his mind spiral downwards. He was glad that he didn’t have to keep up with small-talk every day._

_Steve didn’t mind working alone. He was aware that his body’s limitations were way different than those of other people. He worked best by himself, anyway. The dog was able to keep up with the punishing pace Steve had set for himself. The officer who had handed him the leash had called the dog Dodger, and it deserved his name. Not even once in the days the two worked side by side did Steve have to warn the dog about falling rubble, it always dodged the danger._

_Man and dog, side by side, worked relentlessly to clear the pieces of building and plane out. Day after day, Steve and Dodger spent every waking moment on the site, searching for survivors at first, then, after about a week and a half, trying to recover all the victims, if only to try and offer their families some semblance of closure._

_Until an ill-timed joke and several ambitious journalists forced Steve to cut short his time and effort. But there were other things he could do, in order to support the country through one of its darkest periods._

_So, on October eleventh, exactly one month after the attack, Steve Rogers walked into an Army recruitment office and volunteered. He got his orders for basic only three days later._

_He had a feeling that Tony was somehow behind the promptness of the officials, but, for once, he was happy to have the older man stick his nose in Steve’s business, so he decided to let it slide. But just this once._

* * *

_(2011)_

Technically, the shield had been in the ‘gear’-labeled box. But it looked like the attic had not been quite as insulated as he’d thought, because the moment Steve picked the box up, the bottom had fallen out, leaving him up to his ankles in seventy-years-old clothes, gear, and damp cardboard.

Trying to get himself free, to go get a bag or a box or anything, really, to gather up the mess he’d made, Steve tripped over something then tried to gain his footing and stepped on something else in the pile and then suddenly he was slipping and falling and if it hadn’t been for his reflexes, he would have impaled himself on one of Sharon’s attempts at sculpture. He loved his cousin and she was a brilliant actress, but she was a shitty artist when it came to DIYs.

He let out a long and creative string of curses, getting back to his feet and leaving in search of something that would help him carry everything downstairs, preferably without killing him in the process. 

After a good deal of time spent trying to locate a plastic bag, which, of course, had been hidden on the lowest, hardest to access shelf in the pantry, he returned to gather everything up. In doing so, he also found the slippery little bastard that had wanted him dead. 

A shield. 

Round and light, with a star etched in the middle. 

The famous Cap Shield. 

Steve noticed how the color was gone in a thick line, almost straight down the middle, leaving the bare metal, ‘ _Vibranium_ ’, his brain supplied, to reflect the dim light coming in through the small windows. He tried to pick it up, but his fingers slipped and came off coated in red, white and blue, leaving behind more clumsy streaks of gleaming metal. Determined to get the damn thing off the floor and into his hands, Steve took out his Swiss Army knife from his jeans pocket and used the long blade to lift the edge of the shield off the floor, giving himself enough of a grip to actually lift it. It was heavier than it looked, and Steve almost dropped it again as the old leather straps on the back pretty much disintegrated when he tried to use them to hold up the shield. Of course, keeping questionable quality leather in dampness for almost seventy years was probably not the best idea…

In the end, he managed to get a hold of the shield without it slipping away. As soon as he actually held it up and could take a closer look at it, Steve figured out just why it had been so slippery. It was all the pait, actually. Because, whatever concoction Howard Stark had used to paint the shield in the famous combo of “USA flag had a love affair with the weapons development division”, it must have been iron based, which translated into every move that Steve made causing rusted flakes of paint to fall off the actual shield and cover everything else in sight. And now that he knew what to look for, Steve could see the brightly coloured footprints he’d left behind while on the quest for a plastic bag. 

Steve took his shirt off and used it as a makeshift bag for the shield, if only in order to not fill the whole house with tiny flecks of paint. He took it straight to the back yard and used the high-pressure setting of the water hose to wash off all the remaining paint.

In the end, he was left with the gleaming metal shield, marked only by the star etching and five, no, six scuff marks. He’d have to ask his grandpa about them. Speaking of, he’d probably have to ask Grandpa about a lot of other things. 

Steve knew the story, hell, everyone who passed fifth grade history knew the story.

The rescue was one of Grandpa’s favorite stories to tell at holidays, actually, or on Grandma’s birthday. His eyes would twinkle as he’d talk about making sure he gave her that dance he promised her and then how the dance turned into four children, eleven grandchildren, and the best life a kid from Brooklyn could ever ask for. 

Steve stared at the newly-cleaned shield and furrowed his brow. He’d - and the general public - had been told that all of Cap’s gear and personal effects had been given to the Smithsonian after his retirement. Not that the mantle had been abandoned and the shield had been left to gather dust in an attic. And if anyone was going to get another version of that story, Steve was sure it would have been him - the grandson who shared his name, his eyes, his jaw, and his birthday. 

“Time to pay Grandpa a visit,” he said to himself as he gathered the shield and went back inside.

* * *

_(2002)_

_“Private Rogers, you have proven to be one of the best soldiers I have ever seen. A week from today, you will have finished your Basic Training. Do you have any plans regarding your future in the Army?”_

_“No, sir, I do not. I just want to make sure that nothing like the attack in September happens again.”_

_“Well, I have an old friend who has been pestering me about sending some of my best and brightest recruits to serve with him. How does Special Forces sound, boy?”_

* * *

_(2011)_

“I was going through some of the old things in the attic the other day,” Steve mentioned to his grandpa the next day, over a game of chess. 

Chess had always been their thing. From the moment Steve was old enough to understand that the chess pieces were used for something else other than chewing on, his grandpa had taught him to play. At first, of course, they were unevenly matched, but, as years passed, Steve proved to be an even better strategist than his grandfather. 

“There are a lot of things gathering dust up there,” his grandfather replied, 

“That they are, Gramps, that they are. Check.” Steve looked up to see his grandfather studying him. He must have found what he was looking for, because he returned his attention to the game, moving to capture the offensive piece. 

“You found it, didn’t you?”

They both knew what this was about. No other details needed. 

“I thought you left everything back in the States.” Steve tried his best to keep his tone level, to not let show just how confused and, somehow, betrayed he felt.

“I wanted to, Lord knows just how much I did. But Howard made that shield, that gear, for me… I couldn’t leave it behind.” Steve watched as the old man got a faraway look in his eyes. “I always thought that one day something would come up, that the war would start again, and that it would be time for Captain America to pick the shield back up. But it never happened.”

“Never happened? What about the Cold War? The Cuban Missile Crisis? The attack, back in 2001?” Steve argued.

“Junior… there’s things you are still too young to understand… the Cold War? In a world where the Allies won the Second World War, how would it help to bring forth the one asset that no one was ever able to reverse-engineer? Who came to life because of the work of a German scientist, who was rescued from a Nazi stronghold by a British MI5 agent? Then Timothy was born, and I couldn’t just go ahead and leave Peggy with a baby just to parade around in an effort to win what ended up being nothing more than a dick-measuring contest between Russia and the US. By the time the Soviets were testing their first nuclear weapons, Gabe was born. A year and a half later came Johnny and then I pretty much told the US government to shove it when they came knocking. I wouldn’t abandon my family,” he said, looking back at the board. “Your move.”

Steve silently moved a rook to capture his knight.

“The Cuban Crisis… Peggy had already formed SHIELD by then. I was on backup, while she went ahead on a stealth recon mission. I almost lost her, that time…” his grandfather said, looking down at the board. “Your mother was so young, back then… Did you know that, before she hit puberty, she was almost as sickly as I was growing up? For years, we were afraid that she wouldn't make it, that this was the price we had to pay for the serum, for the life Peggy and I built together… But then Abby hit puberty and suddenly it was as if she'd been hit by the vita-rays Howard beamed me up with." He chuckled, lost for a moment down memory lane. 

Steve rubbed at his shoulder again. By now, it was more out of habit, than for any real comfort. That morning he'd woken up to his shoulder being as good as new. 

"By the time 9/11 rolled around, I was already old, and halfway across the globe. The people didn't need a relic to resurface from a museum. You were there, Junior. You know that I am right. Captain America died the day I plunged that plane straight into the Arctic. No use in bringing a ghost back to life." He moved his remaining knight. “Checkmate."

Steve let out a humorless laugh. 

“Of course you have reasons, I know that. But, I don’t know, it feels unfair. You get to retire, to build a whole life and you never go back, not really.” Steve looked away, eyes going from the sky to the weird-shaped cloud to the tree line of the well groomed patch of forest surrounding the nursing home. Anywhere but at his grandfather.

“You don’t get to throw around judgement, Junior.” The older man was using what Steve and Sharon used to call his “Captain” voice. The one that usually left no room for argument. 

“Not judgement. Just observations. I saw the worst humanity has to offer and I can’t help but imagine how some things would have been different if Captain America would have been a front runner instead of a figure-head gathering dust in an attic.” Steve was now again facing his grandfather, the contempt in his voice almost tangible. 

“Watch your mouth, boy. You think that, just because you joined the army, you know what it was like seventy years ago? News flash, you don’t. And if I made a certain call regarding my own life, it does not give you any right to throw words around. What you need to do now, if you are not too dumb to see it, is stop for a moment, take a step back and reevaluate your decisions. Or maybe the next time somebody shoots in your direction they will hit your head instead of your shoulder!” 

Their raised voices were beginning to get attention, but neither of the men were about to back down. There were too many questions, too many mixed feelings on both sides for them to stand down. 

"I can't just stop! I have a duty, a purpose, serving my country, the one you were so eager to turn your back on the moment you found the right excuse," Steve replied, standing up to his full height. 

"You have served your country, boy! You spent nearly half your life serving your country! Eight years in Iraq and two more protecting the president. You took a damn bullet for him, how long, until you decide that's enough, Steve? Because if you don't, you'll get to the day when you'll look back and resent it. Resent yourself, resent your service, everything you've sacrificed so far." His grandfather stood up too, his presence still imposing, even if Steve was taller than him by a good head.

"Steve!" a third voice called out, and both men turned to face the newcomer. 

"Grandma Peggy," Steve, Jr. began, trying to calm himself down. 

"Peg," Steve, Sr. tried to say at the same time. 

"Hush, both of you. I could hear you from all the way out in the garden. Who won the match?“ Peggy asked, making her way towards the table. 

"Grandpa," Steve replied, once again rubbing at his shoulder. 

"Which brings you two to a tie, at 28 victories each," she said. "Now come, Stevie, take a walk with your elderly grandmother through the rose garden. What if I go alone and get hurt?" 

Steve gave her a half-smile and extended his arm. 

"I heard you two, Stevie," Peggy said as soon as they were out of earshot. "You think you didn't do enough, don't you?" 

"I spent years close to some of the most powerful people on the planet and I saw just how much power corrupts. And there was nothing I could do. The world, the people need heroes, ones who would put themselves in between the innocents and danger. And they need them now more than ever, Grandma…"

For a while, they walked in silence. The rose garden was rather deserted, with only one other person other than Steve and Peggy present. Still, Steve couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. 

They reached the small pavilion set in the center of the rose garden. Steve pulled a chair for Peggy, then sat himself in front of her. 

"Stevie… you know I love you very much, right?" she asked her grandson. 

He nodded. 

"You must also know that, even though we were here, in the countryside just outside of London, quiet and idyllic as it may seem, we did not abandon the mission we began all those years ago. To make the world a better, a safer place. To protect the innocents. For decades after the war, your grandpa and I, we led SHIELD. Then, after you were born, we passed the lead to Alexander Pierce. But I knew he would be only a temporary fix. He was young, back then, ambitious and with big dreams. But his mandate as a director wasn't meant to last. So, before we left, I brought in somebody else, a reliable young man who would be fit to take over the organisation one day. He became director when Pierce moved over to the World Security Council. I kept in touch with him, even if only to not feel useless, after I returned to England. There are still some things that you and your grandpa have to sort out, but as soon as you do, I'll put you into contact with Nick."

Steve watched her, wide eyed. 

"Grandma, I…" 

"Hush now, we both know there's no talking you out of picking up that blasted shield. I might as well give you a team to watch your back. Your grandpa would have been long dead if it hadn't been for Dum Dum and the rest of the Howlies. You might bump into some of their grandkids in SHIELD, now that I think of it. Sharon was also offered a position, but she refused, smart girl that she is." Peggy let out a soft laugh. 

"I don't know what to say, Grandma…"

"You're welcome, Stevie. Now go home, check if that old gear still fits, play around with the shield for a bit, get a feel for the thing. Let me talk some sense into your old man. And, while you’re at it, give Tony a call. I remember he was dying to get his hands on Howard’s notes for Cap’s things. I bet he can come up with something way better than anything you could salvage from that pile of old uniforms."

They walked back to the patio, where Grandpa was waiting. There were many words still left unsaid between them, but when Steve tried to breach the subject, he was interrupted by a strong hug. 

"I'll come by in a few days. I promised Jason I'll visit, meet his wife," Steve relented. 

"You do that. And tell that young boy Falsworth that London ain't that far, he might as well get his ass in a car and pay a visit to an old man," his grandpa replied, only to be smacked in the shoulder by Grandma. 

"Watch that tongue of yours, Steven Grant. You'll teach the boy only bad things!" she laughed, before reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

That was how Steve left them, smiling at each other, love shining bright in their eyes even after close to seventy years of being together and he couldn't help the short-lived pang of jealousy at the sight. 

And for a few short seconds, Steve allowed himself to think, to picture a day when he'd find someone to share everything with.

* * *

_(2011 - one month later)_

Nicholas J. Fury was tall and stern and wore a black leather patch over his left eye, which concealed the scars almost completely, and a black leather trench coat, which gave him the allure of a long ago pirate lord. 

He'd taken a look at Steve, a look at some file on his desk and let out a short "Hmm."

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck, not quite sure what to make of the man in front of him. 

But his uncertainty was short lived, as director Fury stood and took him to a training room where several agents were sparring. 

"Barton. Romanoff," he called, and one of the pairs left the mats to join them. 

"You were a Green Beret, right?" he asked Steve. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "show me what you can do."

Steve nodded and followed the two agents back on the mat. 

The man sat down, cross-legged, in one corner, while the woman took a defensive stance in the middle of the mat. Director Fury nodded at Steve, who took off his shoes and joined the woman. 

She was small and lithe, with the body of a dancer, but green eyes studied him from underneath bright red bangs and Steve would recognize another soldier anywhere. 

He faced her, ready for a demo fight. But then she lunged and before Steve could react, she had her thighs around his throat, the momentum of her movement taking them both to the ground. Steve went down and gave her half a second before he twisted, arms grabbing her waist and pulling her off. She used his own force against him, jumping back to her feet. Steve stood too, facing her again. The second time she lunged, he was waiting. 

He went for a punch, which she saw and blocked, then she followed with a roundhouse kick that got him in the upper arm and made him wince. He feigned a left hand strike, but then kicked with his right foot, catching her thigh and sending her back in what, for almost anybody else, would have ended with his opponent in a heap on the floor. But she just flipped midair, going through a brief handstand before returning to a standing position. She brushed her hair out of her face and winked at him, and Steve grinned in return. For the first time in years, Steve felt something in himself coming alive, as he realized he could finally fight without holding back in fear of hurting his partner.

A good ten minutes later, they were both sweaty and sticky and, for the first time since his arrival, Steve could have sworn he'd seen a shadow of a smile on the director's face.

* * *

"Steve?" was all he heard before his arms were full of motor oil covered human. "Aunt Peggy said you might come around, but you could have called first, you know? Just a simple 'hey, Tony, I'm back on this side of the Atlantic, wanna get a beer or something and catch up?' I'm not asking for that much, am I? Whaddya think, J, am I asking for too much?" 

Tony took a step back and Steve took him in. It had been years since he'd last seen the other man, and it showed. He'd been in Iraq when Tony was captured, radio silent so he didn't even find out until months after. It was hard to put a label on what exactly the relationship between them was, as his grandpa was Tony’s godfather and the man was a good twelve years older than Steve. 

Still, it had been with Tony’s help that Steve had figured out he was just as into guys as he was into ladies. 

And, while doubtful at first, Tony had become one of his biggest supporters after joining the army. He'd made sure that Steve's unit always had top of the line gear and had kept an eye on him. 

And now here he was, in a SHIELD workshop, covered head to toe in motor oil and other questionable liquids, a bright red and gold suit of armour laying on the table behind him. 

"I do not know what to answer, sir," came the reply from the overhead speakers.

"You remember JARVIS, Steve, don't you? And this marvel here would be Mark 16, one of the latest models of the Iron Man armour. Did Fury even brief you? And to think that I almost had to wait for the paranoid pirate to tell me you were coming… you better have some grand apology planned, kid."

Steve let out a laugh. Apparently, some things never changed. 

"The director briefed me," he managed to get out when Tony stopped to breathe. 

"But not before Nat handed him his own ass on the training mats," the blond agent from before, _'agent Clint Barton, callsign Hawkeye, just call me Clint, dammit,'_ intervened. 

In the fifteen minutes that it had taken Steve to shower and change, he had acquired three new band-aids, one purpling bruise and a pot of coffee that was, at the moment, half full. 

"But he held his ground better than anyone expected," added the red-haired agent, ‘ _Natalia Romanova, callsign Black Widow'_. She patted Clint's shoulder, which somehow led to him spilling some of the coffee from the pot onto his purple tee-shirt. 

"Aww, coffee, no," Clint whined and cut a glance to Tony who winked. Soon, a large mechanical arm started rolling across the floor, offering a coffee pot and refiled Clint’s cup. “Thanks, buddy,” Clint addressed the robot and Steve bit back a grin. Of course Tony had built a robot to serve coffee. It would honestly be weirder if he hadn’t. 

"He did better than the STRIKE team combined." For some reason, Steve felt that that simple sentence held a way deeper meaning than it seemed. 

Tony looked him up and down once, a lopsided smirk on his face, then returned to tinkering with his suit. A few years back, Steve would have loved nothing more than to just stick around and watch Tony work, bent over the armour, especially with the slim-fitted jeans the genius wore. While he still _deeply_ appreciated the visuals, his focus had to be on the team.

So Steve took a few steps back, shook his head a little and switched his focus to the one-armed robot that had given Clint the new coffee. It moved in short forward-backward lines, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was pacing the floor, waiting for something. 

Scratch that. Knowing Tony, that was probably exactly what the robot was doing. Damn engineering genius.

"Well, as soon as the wonder twins stop gushing over the new guy, Nat should introduce you to Bruce. Barton, if you touch that thing and I'll reassign your gear cleanup to DUM-E."

Clint instantly retreated his hand, which was just about to grasp some weird contraption on a table situated behind Tony. 

"One day, man, I'll figure out how you do that," he retorted. 

Tony barked out a laugh, as Natasha smacked Clint upside the head. 

"Come, Cap, let's see if Bruce is available."

 _'Cap? That's original,'_ Steve thought.

* * *

"So, it appears that the Super Soldier Serum, combined with the Vita Rays, binded to several loci of your grandfather’s X chromosome which is how you are the only one in your family to actually display obvious signs. And your mother, of course. But that's a different story, since she has one X chromosome from Peggy Carter too," Bruce Banner explained. 

Steve nodded. 

He had joined their small team a little over three weeks ago, and in that time Barton became Clint, with the occasional bird-related-nickname thrown in whenever he wanted to rile the guy up a little, Tony had gone from “Tony, the guy I have an awkward past with” to “Tony, the closest thing I have to a brother on this side of the Atlantic” and Dr Banner had become Bruce. Most surprising, however, was how Natalia became Natasha, after an incident involving several consecutive sleepless nights, some failed middle-of-the-night attempts at cooking, the theft of one of Steve’s hoodies, and the mysterious disappearance of several of his sweatpants. And so, unbeknownst to them, their small team somehow evolved from strangers brought together by a random twist of fate to friends, to something that was not quite a family yet, but, given time, it could become one.

So, when Bruce had suggested some tests to figure out just how much of the original Serum was in Steve’s body and what he should expect, he had agreed. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have the actual original serum in your body, because the original serum doesn’t exist anymore. What you _have_ is the genetic mutation that the original serum had caused. Overall, the mechanism appears to have been nothing but to catalyze the beneficial mutation that would have, otherwise, taken somewhat close to centuries to develop.” The scientist took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “To be completely sure of my results I would, of course, need some samples from both of your parents, as well as your grandfather. The purpose of these tests, however, was not to prove my theory, but to figure out just what you can expect from your body. And the results are consistent with what we gathered from Howard’s notes on Project Rebirth: increased strength and stamina, accelerated healing rate, increased mental capacities, basically a superhuman.”

Steve accepted the stack of papers Bruce offered.

“These are the complete records, both of Howard’s and my own personal notes and results from your tests. They belong to you. Do with them as you please, neither Tony nor I will try to use them from now on.”

Steve browsed through the papers, eyes scanning the neatly organised information. 

"I don't know if i didn't mention this before, but i don't see anything about it here so I'll just bring it up. I can't get drunk. At least, not with three bottles of some weird European plum drink with a 60+ percent alcohol content. My mate, more like my brother, you know one of those?" Steve pauses and waits for a nod from Bruce that he understands, "anyway, his name's Jason and he was down after two, maybe three shots? And I was at bottle two and we wanted to figure out how much it took to get me, like, at least tipsy? We were sixteen or seventeen and dumb as fuck and I was about to switch from whatever that was to something equally alcoholic when my grandpa found us… I think that was the only time I've seen him get really angry. When he calmed down, and after he made sure that Jason wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning, he sat me down and told me some of the effects the serum had on him. One of which being that he could no longer get drunk. And that his main problem with the situation was not that we were trying, because 'Junior, hell, Dum Dum got a shit ton of that plum drink to try and get me drunk back in the war' but that we were too young and dumb to start with the strongest drink available." Steve smiled as he recalled the memory. "Jason still brings up the incident and the sent-from-the-deepest-pits-of-hell hangover he had the next day, whenever he wants to ask for a favour."

Steve looked at the scientist sat across from him, leaning slightly forward, elbows on his knees, chin supported by his hands, as if his dumb memory from twelve years ago was the most interesting thing he'd heard in his life, smiling too. The silence between them stretched. It was just on this side of awkward when Bruce cleared his throat, pointedly looking away from Steve. 

"In this case, I'd suggest going over that and some of the more medical results with dr Cho. She's the one in charge with putting us back together after missions. You know, just so she knows what to expect in case you ever need medical attention. If you don't ever get drunk, chances are you won't respond to normal pain medication, or anaesthetics"

"But at least I make a hell of a designated driver, right?" Steve grinned. 

"I suppose so, yes," Bruce replied, looking down as a soft flush rose to his cheeks. 

“Bruce, this is going above and beyond what I expected. Thank you,” Steve said then, watching the other man intently. 

And this time, the scientist met Steve's eyes, the flush going about three shades darker and a glimpse of _something_ flashing in his eyes, even if only for a fraction of a second before disappearing.

“It’s nothing, Steve. You’re most welcome.”

* * *

_(2011 - Two months earlier, a few days before Steve’s return to the US)_

_“Peggy told me what you were planning, Junior. And she is right, there’s no talking you out of it. Not when you’ve made up your mind.”_

_“Grandpa…”_

_“And you are right too. The world needs heroes. Perhaps more than ever before now. I know Nick Fury. He’s good people, Junior. I had my doubts, at first, but he’s the right man in the right place.”_

_Steven Grant Rogers, sr, picked the round shield up, now mostly stripped of its former bright colors. For what would be the last time, he weighed it in his hands, then held it out to his grandson._

_“This belongs to you now. You were right. It should not gather dust.”_

_Steve took the shield._

_“One more thing, Junior. A long time ago, before I got the shield, a wise man told me something, something that I believe I should tell you. He said that a man who had been strong his whole life would always end up losing his respect for power. But a weak man knows both the value of strength and also compassion. And he asked me to promise something, that I now ask of you. I know that, soon enough, you will go back to the States, and have a new mission. A new purpose. But promise me one thing. That, whatever happens, you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, not a flawless hero, but a good man.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celebrating the one-month anniversary of TFSS with chapter 2!  
> this has grown way out of control, but the fic wants what it wants, so there's that.  
> hope you enjoy everything!  
> 9/11 scene summary: Steve is on campus when the first plane hits, he runs to the site and for the following month he works as a volunteer, with a dog named Dodger. one month later, on Oct. 11th, he signs up for the US army
> 
> as usual, take all your feelings/questions/love/hate/reactions etc to the comments box, your feedback is greatly appreciated :)  
> lots of love and stay safe y'all!

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody give a round of applause to ko, my Blind Date partner, who helped shaped this monster of a fic into the finished product and made the awesome art!  
> ko, working with you is amazing and I couldn't have asked for a better match!  
> A second round of applause should go to betheflame, the most awesomest beta there is! You are the real-life Pepper Potts this work desperately needed.  
> Thank you, ladies, this would have been impossible without you!
> 
> Find us on Tumblr! We're [NimDamy](https://nimdamy.tumblr.com/), [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) and [betheflame](https://betheflame.tumblr.com/) :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Two Faces, Same Shield - moodboards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069347) by [kocuria-visuals (kocuria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria-visuals)




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